Rekindle
by trufflemores
Summary: 6.05 reaction fic. Kurt and Blaine are trapped in an elevator. This is what happens inside it. Klaine. COMPLETE.


God it's so_ hot _in this room.

I know.

Youshouldtakeoffyourclothes.

"What?"

The question seems loud in the silence; Kurt's head jerks up, his cheeks flushing even as he defiantly meets Blaine's gaze.

"Your – shirt, it'll just trap the heat in. You should take it off."

"Oh." Blaine looks down at the article in question, picking at it with a flush stealing up his own cheeks. "Kurt, don't you think that's a little –" _Unprofessional _springs immediately to mind; Blaine has to resist the urge to bite his own tongue at how childish it sounds even in his own thoughts. _Who's there to see us? _

Kurt levels him with the most unimpressed stare he's ever been subjected to, but there's a hint of amusement, a taste of _are you serious? _ The old teasing makes Blaine's lips twitch in spite of themselves, half a smile, half a grimace, an old _I know, I know, but come on. We're _not dating, _remember?_

It stings, and the smile falls from his lips, Kurt mirroring him as he steps back a little and folds his arms, almost defensively.

They wait in silence for a few moments, sweating in the heat – Sylvester really pulled out all the stops, Blaine is going to _maim _her when he gets out of here, because the last thing he needs is to look stupid in front of Kurt – but his thoughts are interrupted when he hears the light swish of fabric on skin.

He jerks so hard that he almost trips, whirling to face Kurt just as he arches an eyebrow lightly in question and lets his own tie drift to the floor. The heat that flushes Blaine's cheeks has nothing to do with the stifling confines of his predicament and everything to do with the way that Kurt's gaze won't _break__, _how he watches Blaine so intently like clothes are somehow heathen and Blaine's being stupid to wear them.

So he reaches up and pretends that his own fingers aren't shaking a little bit as he undoes his bow tie. And god, the breath that he sucks in is richer, headier, as soon as it's away from his neck, a visible clasp coming undone as approval tilts Kurt's lips in the tiniest, jauntiest little smile.

Feeling triumphant and flushed with Kurt's approval, Blaine says, "There's got to be a way out of here."

"You could try the ceiling panels," Kurt offers dryly. "Maybe Sue just wants to see how far you'll go to get out."

Truthfully, it wouldn't surprise Blaine: this has Sue's style written all over it. Still, he can tell from the way that Kurt watches him that Sue isn't the only one curious to see how he responds to their confines.

It's strangely mundane, being trapped in an elevator with no means of escape but his own wits and, possibly, the ceiling panels.

"I can't reach," he says, at once aware of how stupid it sounds, how demanding. Still, Kurt doesn't laugh, watching him, waiting. _Help me?_ "If you gave me a lift, I might be able to," he adds quietly.

The challenge is indirect. Friends help each other, but friends don't have to draw in a steadying breath when their partner drops to his knees and offers his hands, slow, supremely confident.

Blaine swallows, abruptly aware that Kurt isn't watching him impassively anymore. There's definitely a challenge in his eyes, and as Blaine steps forward, he belatedly toes off his shoes – they go easily, unlike Kurt's boots; he's positive he could spend hours on those laces whereas Kurt does and undoes them in seconds – and steadies himself with a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt draws in a slow, quiet breath before helping him up, as practiced and natural as any Cheerio used to supporting his teammates into position. It makes it hard to focus, imagining Kurt in his Cheerio uniform, and Kurt really does have the most amazing shoulders Blaine has ever seen and he should not ogle but _God _that underlying strength does things to him.

Head spinning, he yelps when Kurt lifts him suddenly, almost crashing to the floor before Kurt, just as swiftly, catches him around the arms, concern and silent questions in his gaze.

They're so close, Blaine thinks, dizzyingly, terribly close. He can smell Kurt stronger than before; whether it's their proximity or the fact that they've been sharing the same space for, god, an hour? He can't remember when Kurt's phone died or how he left his satchel back on the stage, but he knows that it's been a while, that the heat hasn't crept upward intensely but it has steadily, and part of him wonders if that's not a trick of his mind, either.

Kurt seems to radiate heat, and Blaine wants to douse him in coolness, to bring him chilled drinks and a fan and just bask in his presence for one of those rare, radiant smiles that may even earn him a cool, quiet invitation to join him, to share the heat as much as the respite because their air conditioner is broken and they should be used to this but they're not, they're really not, and Blaine lets out a breathless exhale as soon as the fan touches him because it's so, so good –

It takes him a second to realize that Kurt's started unbuttoning his shirt. He licks his lips, about to tell him off, but those talented fingers are still surprisingly cool and it's hard to resist Kurt on his better days, impossible to resist him now, fiery and commanding and utterly calm.

The shirt slides away, taking some of Blaine's resolve with it.

At once, Blaine feels the chill, a single involuntary shiver working down his spine. "Cold hands," he says, and if it comes out more like a gasp than a statement, at least Kurt doesn't do more than raise his eyebrows.

"You looked – " Kurt's lips purse in that way that means he has more to say, a lot more to say, but he bites his tongue and says, "hot," before an aborted laugh hiccups out of him.

Relieved to break the tension, even if he feels more tempted to close the distance between him and Kurt more than ever, Blaine offers a nervous chuckle, unsure if he should push his shirt off – a bow tie is one thing, but his shirt? – before accepting it as it is and offering, "Let's – let's try the ceiling again."

They settle back into position and Blaine is ready, this time, for the Cheerio Kurt to haunt him, focusing on the slightly broader stretch of Kurt's shoulders and the noticeably higher swoop of his hair to steady him.

It works long enough that he only flails a little when Kurt finally lifts him, surprised at how _good _Kurt is at shifting his own weight to keep them from tipping. In seconds, Blaine has the ceiling panels in his reach, but only just.

"Little more," he says, grunting slightly when Kurt elevates him that last bit, realizing with a flicker of despair that the panels are utterly smooth, with no edges and no weak points. They don't move when he pushes on them; they don't budge when he tries shifting them; and they remain utterly impervious to his fist when, inspired, he curls it into a ball and swings it hard at them.

"Fuck," he yelps, utterly involuntarily, as a sickening flash of pain spikes through his hand, and Kurt almost drops him out of surprise, steadying him with equal swiftness as worry furrows his brows.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Blaine grits out, red flooding his cheeks as he cradles his right hand. "That was really stupid." He's gasping a little, wishing for a hard moment that he could disappear because if he hates the heat and the confines of the elevator he hates Kurt's presence then, too, shame flooding him as he quips, "I don't think we're getting out through the ceiling."

"And we've already tried the doors," Kurt says, returning his attention to the solid iron in front of them. Blaine feels gratitude swell in his chest as tears flood his eyes, reaching up hastily to wipe them with his good hand as his right throbs just before Kurt looks back at him. "How long does you think they'll leave us in here?"

"Knowing Sue?" Blaine lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head and shrugging out of his shirt, abruptly fed up with it. His right hand twinges as he yanks it out of the sleeve, but he feels better once it's off, less like a confined animal and more human again. "As long as it takes."

There's silence for a long moment, neither of them daring to voice their unspoken concerns. Blaine takes to folding his shirt carefully with his left hand, ignoring Kurt's gaze on him as he circles the elevator once, looking for weak spots.

"Thank God this isn't the maintenance elevator," he adds with a heartfelt shudder, thinking about the 4x4 _closet _that somehow qualifies as a serviceable elevator. For one person, it's acceptable; for two, he knows claustrophobia would set in all too quickly. At least Sue granted them this small mercy; the space is huge, large enough to fit ten people.

Even so, the heat bears down on him, compressing the space and making the air heavier, thicker, like it's already being consumed too quickly. He can tell by the furrow between Kurt's brows that he's feeling it, too, the uneasiness of being trapped in here with no air.

He can almost hear Sue screeching in frustration as they stand apart, surveying each other without speaking, without making the slightest move to approach each other. _Kiss already, _he pictures her yelling, a different shiver working down his spine at the implication.

"You okay?" Kurt asks.

"Terrific," Blaine replies, his voice coming out slightly strangled because even wearing the thinnest of smiles and ignoring the pain in his hand, he can't deny that the temptation is there.

Kurt looks handsome and ruffled and God, Blaine _misses _him.

He can't remember the last time that he wanted to kiss Dave, that he actually turned into it instead of quietly accepting it. With Kurt, every kiss counted, the hellos, the goodbyes, and he actively missed them when they were gone. Even when Kurt was sick, he pressed kisses to his temples, his forehead, his hair, trying to instill _I love you _into every one.

That's the sickening truth of it all, really: in spite of everything, he still _loves _Kurt, and he hates that, and he loves it, and he wants to sob with frustration because he's tried _so hard _to get over Kurt and here they are.

Being forced together by a manic principal with way too much time and power on her hands.

"We should get cozy," Kurt offers, and his voice is light, almost bored, but Blaine can hear how brittle it is; he wonders, suddenly, what Kurt thinks of all this. It's been too long since they've had an honest conversation – since they've sat down and _talked, _and he hates how he misses that, too, but Kurt was his best friend before his boyfriend and that hasn't ever changed – but Blaine isn't sure how to initiate one now.

All he knows is that it's hot and Kurt looks tired, shoulders tilted back in an aggressively straight posture, chin raised, eyes alight, daring the world to challenge the truth that Blaine can see in the set of his jaw more plainly than anything he could say: _I am exhausted of fighting this fight._

_Me too, _Blaine thinks, and he doesn't know what that means, what they're fighting against or even _who _they're fighting against. He thinks wryly of his therapist reminding him that he's fighting himself in many ways, projecting his needs onto Kurt, demanding things from Kurt that Kurt can't give him. But he's also fighting to keep things hidden from other people, fighting to show the world that he's fine, that he's more than fine, he's _better off, _and that everything would come together beautifully for him if it wasn't for the man standing across from him.

Without speaking, Kurt undoes his vest.

Blaine watches as he pushes each button through its hole slowly, methodically. Following each movement carefully, frozen with curiosity, he stares unabashedly as Kurt peels it off his shoulders.

The look that Kurt fixes him with is clearly challenging.

With an odd little twitch of his lips, an aborted smile, Blaine reaches down and undoes his belt, enjoying the way that Kurt's cool confidence falters, his own gaze sliding down to follow the torturously slow movements of Blaine's hand.

Good, Blaine thinks, a sort of momentary, savage pleasure coursing through him as he slides the belt off his hips. He doesn't want to be the only one with his heart in this, not the only one staring at Kurt and wondering exactly how he's supposed to deny the undeniable.

Besides, he thinks, dropping the belt, if Kurt wants to _win him back, _let him understand that Blaine isn't looking for detachedness and superiority. He wants _Kurt, _flustered and honest and so passionate and perfect that it took Blaine's breath away, once.

"It's so hot in this room," Kurt says, fanning himself lightly, almost absentmindedly, and it hits Blaine like a punch to the gut because he remembers a younger Kurt saying the exact same thing to him, trying to communicate a desire that ran far deeper than _let's just be kids and respect these boundaries. _It feels comical, then, standing so far apart in a space designed to put them closer together, and Blaine's struck by how _taken _he is, how little he wants to leave knowing that beyond these six walls he is nothing but dust to Kurt, a former fiancé, an ex-boyfriend, a _never was._

It hurts to know that their shared history can't bring them together in here anymore than it can out there. Blaine wishes he could pull his resolve together and put the carefully built distance between them back, but Kurt's a pole that he gravitates towards, naturally drawn in spite of himself to his presence.

_You're my end and my beginning, _he thinks, seconds before the elevator lights flicker.

Kurt tenses, every muscle in his body going stiff as he shifts on his feet. The lights flicker once, twice, then stop, restoring full brightness once more. Even Blaine is on edge, the pain in his hand forgotten as he shuffles closer to the center of the room, wishing that it was a larger space and that he couldn't hear Kurt's breathing, acutely, beside his own.

It's high and soft and panicked. He reaches out instinctively and finds one of Kurt's cool, now-clammy hands, taking it in his own. "It's just Sue," he says quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand as his breathing creeps into a higher, more panicked register. "It's okay."

The lights go out, and Blaine exhales slowly, a gentle counterpoint to Kurt's rapid breathing, his hand crushing Blaine's as the darkness persists.

"They'll come back on," he says lightly, hoping to instill a comforting sense of certainty in his voice.

Even as he speaks, the lights remain, quite unhelpfully, off, the room plunged into darkness, elevating every shadow until Blaine feels like he could fall through the floor, that if he let go of Kurt he might actually collapse.

Minutes pass like hours as they stand, frozen, waiting for the lights to come back on as the temperature drops off precipitously, cool and crisp wafting over them as an air conditioner kicks in. _Amazing timing, _Blaine thinks caustically. Kurt's already shivering and it's instinct, really, to release his hand and rub his arm soothingly instead.

Unlike the first time, however, the lights don't come back on. As the chill settles in and the ache in his hand becomes more defined, Blaine tugs on Kurt's arm, gentle at first and then more firm because _screw it, _if they're here then he isn't going to deny what he wants and, he realizes, what Kurt needs, as Kurt turns readily into his arms, tucking both of his own around Blaine's waist and squeezing tightly, burying his face against his shoulder.

"It's okay," Blaine says softly, squeezing him back. His throat feels tight and he's starting to feel chilled from the shift in temperature, but he doesn't have time to dwell on that, instead walking backwards until his back hits the wall, sliding down it and taking Kurt with him. "We're okay," he promises, because it's all he can do with a lapful of Kurt, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly like everything will be as long as he doesn't let go.

Kurt doesn't question their positions, and his presence is like a drug, a balm, and Blaine finds his own breathing evening out as they sit huddled together in the dark, far too comfortable for friends but so far from the lovers that they once were.

It seems strange, how the closeness doesn't bring the same rise out of him that it might have in the heat; how his energies turn solely to keeping Kurt warm and comfortable and safe, above all else, extinguishing the pain in his hand as effectively as any medication. He tried, in Kurt's absence, to fill the Kurt-shaped hole in his life with a variety of fanciful and profoundly unsuccessful alternatives; with Kurt back, the insubstantiality of those alternatives hits him full force.

This is what he needed, what he craved, what he would have gone through hell for: Kurt.

And it's not the same that it once was and Blaine knows exactly how much has changed, but it feels okay, in here, in this dark little cage, to admit to himself that maybe this is what he always needed, what couldn't be replaced with pills, what couldn't be talked away with therapy, what couldn't be quieted and pushed aside with Karofsky.

When he feels tears against his shoulder, Blaine swallows and doesn't speak, rubbing Kurt's back and insisting softly, "It's okay, it's okay."

He knows without asking that it isn't about the elevator, anymore, that the emotional bleed between them exists on a level that hasn't changed since the breakup.

And it's in that moment, chilled and still slightly sweat-sticky and full of agony that he doesn't dare express, that he realizes how stupid it is to let the silence destroy them any longer.

"I never stopped loving you."

Saying it aloud deepens it, renders it truthful beyond refutation. Kurt says nothing and Blaine doesn't need him to, feeling shame and relief bleed out of him as he speaks.

"I kept everything you ever gave me. All the notes and flowers and even that stuffed dog you stole from F-Finn and Rachel.

"I don't – I don't even have a picture of Dave on my phone," he admits, quiet, pained, a secret in the dark. "And I've – I've talked to my therapist and I try and try and try and find out why I'm so unhappy and _angry _all the time and I just . . . it always comes back to you.

"I can't stop loving you, Kurt, and I know that – we're young and stupid and I just want us to – I want us to be _happy, _both of us, and it took me a really long time to see how unhappy you were and I'm sorry that I didn't see it sooner, I'm sorry that I didn't see it soon enough to _fix it, _but we're here and I – I love you, Kurt, I love you so much and I don't want to let you go.

"And I – I want to give us another chance. I want to _win your heart back_. I want to fix us, I want to do things _right, _and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you—"

He scarcely gets the words out before Kurt kisses him, kisses him like a day hasn't passed and yet a hundred years has settled since the war between them, all the pain and reverberating emotions evaporating as Blaine relaxes and kisses back.

"You don't need to win my heart back," Kurt whispers, breaking apart only long enough to speak, whisper-soft against his lips, "it's already yours."

Kissing Kurt is irresistible, and as Blaine surrenders to it, he lets his own hands settle around Kurt's hips, Kurt's framing his face, heedless of the tear tracks there.

"I love you," he says, peppering his face with kisses and Blaine can't really see him, not this close, not well in the dark regardless, but Kurt is everywhere, warm shifting weight and soft lips against his skin, every corner of his jaw and the smooth arch of his nose, his forehead, his eyelids. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

It's like falling in love again, and Blaine finds that even though the universe doesn't begin and end with Kurt, it gravitates towards him, imbuing a sense of safety and wonder and adventure all at once, a thrilling uncertainty attached to it all.

Life is fuller with Kurt and Blaine wants every second of it.

"I owe you an apology," Kurt says breathlessly, and it makes Blaine chuckle a little in spite of himself, already tugging lightly at Kurt's shirt, freeing it from his pants.

"We have time," he whispers, feeling playful and reckless, suddenly. "Can we just –" he trails a line of kisses under Kurt's jaw, feeling him shudder slightly in reply, fingers twining in Blaine's own undershirt as Blaine finishes, "—postpone apologies?"

"We could," Kurt says, his voice dropping a little, and Blaine smiles and wastes no more time on words.

They'll have time to talk when their body heat cools and lethargy steals over them, making everything slower, sweeter even in the dark. They'll have time for everything, he knows, once they step outside the doors and rejoin a world that feels gloriously lighter, more open than it has in months.

But for now, they have nothing but each other, and Blaine can't think of a better way to spend it.


End file.
